Not Throwing Away My Shot
by VikingWitch99
Summary: She was born to do this, to deal death and destruction. They gave her targets, she took care of them. Daughter of a famed war hero, she becomes the most feared sniper of WW2. She knew what her destiny was the moment she took her first life. What she didn't count on, was him...
1. Chapter 1 - Ignited

Chapter 1: Ignited

One moment is all it takes to set your future into place, one moment where the wind changes and you feel your heart pounding in your ears, you feel like the ground has slid out from under your feet and you're falling through the abyss, not only is there the feeling of the world spinning on its head, but, there is also the particular stench of destiny in the air. For me, it was the day my father had taken me out hunting. It was a Sunday morning. The sky was overcast and grey, a slow breeze swept over the green hills in waves before the incoming storm, I could feel the small hairs on my arms stand erect, I could feel the tingling sensations in my fingers and toes. I knew, I knew then that something was going to happen. Something, anything. I didn't know what.

We trudged through the shallow river, dragging up onto the banks piles of sloshy mud, we wiped our boots on the grass atop the riverbank and carried on. We heard the cracks and roars of thunder as we reached the top of the hill leading into the valley, we could see the clouds flash white before the next roar touched our ears. My father lead me down to a spot overlooking where the river lead into the lake, we laid down in a patch of long grass, hiding ourselves from potential prey, covering ourselves with our green coats like blankets to blend in. The prey came soon. My father took down three rabbits with his rifle before handing it to me, "It's time," is all he said. The never changing stern look in his light grey eyes told me he wasn't joking, and he's not known for his humour. Lord I had hoped he was joking. The weight of the gun was heavy in my small, thin hands, I laid it out in front of me, tucking the end under my right arm, finger resting near the trigger, left hand holding it steady as I looked down the gun, looking for a target. My father has dragged me out many times into paddocks and forced the same gun into my hands, testing my abilities, testing my aim on glass bottles, hats, wooden crosses, anything that my father decided to create for bullet fodder. This time it was different. This time I wasn't going to hear the shattering of glass or the hollow thud of wood, nor the tear of cloth. I was going to take my first life.

I saw the wisps of soft brown fur just before I shot. It came up from the river bank, it knew we were there, knew that few minutes ago we had shot at it's friends. It was running for its life, but it had no idea that hope had abandoned it. It didn't know that I was the one holding the gun. I pulled the trigger.

That feeling, that pull of the trigger and the blast that followed, was intoxicating. The click of the trigger was what, _changed me_ , first. I not only felt the click in my finger, I felt it through the whole gun, I felt the little mechanisms work inside the metal and wooden tool of destruction. I felt the spark. I heard the thundering boom of the bullet as it began its journey to the target. The ricochet rippled through me. It was like the ripple ripping through me was bringing me to life, slowing everything down around me so I could experience every little detail in this moment. I could see the iridescent beating wings of blue and black beetles and flies as they buzzed about energetically before the storm, see the majestic grey clouds become absolutely still, like a wave of water about to come crashing down, stopped in its tracks. I could see the bright, harsh lighting snake down from the sky, striking the earth in attempt to splinter it. I could see every blade of grass dancing a waltz in the wind as it whipped up the dust, the water in the stream ripple as all of the other rabbits scattered through it across the hills of the valley. I looked left to see my father with another of his rifles taking aim at the easy targets in their hasty getaway. His face... I couldn't determine what his expression was. Grief? Anger? Sadness... unreadable and distant as always. I watched as the rain fell. The rain that sang a chorus line of my deed. The rain that splattered to the ground as the blood of the rabbit did. She dropped with a thud. Time resumed. The ripple had stopped. My beating heart went still.

I saw my destiny before me. Who I was. What I was to become.

…however, in that moment, I did not foresee him.

 **Hello,**

 **Please feel free to give a review or pick up on any mistakes, this is my first attempt at a fanfiction, I'm a pretty big fan of the Marvel universe and I've been writing since I was in grade two, so any help or comments are very much appreciated! (Also, I've had feedback from some friends of mine and they say my sentences are too long, thoughts?)**


	2. Chapter 2 - Hearth

For turning twenty years of age, a lot has changed in a short space of time. Another war has begun, a girl almost fully matured, and although it had been seven years to the day, I had not forgotten that damned rabbit. Not forgotten it perhaps, because my father had chopped it's foot off and given it to me as a good luck charm, and it was in the suitcase. At the bottom. In the corner. On the right…

…in a paper bag.

My father had given it to me to attach onto a bracelet, however, it's not likely that I would ever be caught dead wearing it.

I looked out of the small, foggy window of the train compartment. Maple trees rushed past in a blur of colour as I remembered the reason I was there, at that moment in time.

…

"Maggie! Can you come downstairs for a moment?"

I looked away from the window for a moment to reply,

"Coming!".

He heard the thud of my feet patter down the stairs, I was dressed to go to work in an hour, in that dismal grocery store. Being a shop assistant wasn't the most interesting thing in the world, but it put food on the table. Food was scarce. We were lucky I had landed that job in the first place. Mrs Hamlin was a nasty woman. Ill-tempered and very particular in the way things had to be done around her shop. Every morning I had to organise the breads in order of how many grains were in them because the bakers never order it right. Silly things like that.

My father was leaning on the kitchen table, a letter addressed to both of us lay open on the table. He looked up to me with a strange look, it was sad with a cunning twinkle in his eye. He let out a sigh as he looked back to the letter.

"I've gotten a position for you in the army."

Silence, as I let that sentence sink in. Somehow, I knew this day was coming. I didn't quite know how I knew, but I've had a gut feeling for a long while.

"You what?" I took a step forward, I could feel the tension coil in my shoulders.

"You're to report to the office in London in a week. You'll be working for the SOE."

Straight to the point, no beating around the bush on this matter, or any. My father was a direct man. He left the table and turned to look out of the kitchen window, no doubt to hide his proud grin.

"And since when have you had it in your mind that I'm going to join the army? You didn't even ask me!"

"Because I know you're against it!" He whipped around to face me. His eyes were squinted, his mouth twisted in a wicked grin, he was looking for any sign that I was cowering from him. I didn't. In fact, I straightened up to the challenge. He looked annoyed with me. Of course he was. A war hero whose daughter wants nothing to do with any of it.

"You _will_ report, it's an honour to serve your country and it will pay very well." He said it in a matter of fact way, as if he'd already won the argument, as if it had already been decided. He turned back to the window in his weak military stance, standing as straight as he could with his crooked back with his hands behind his back. I looked in the reflection in the window, his face was unreadable. When he spoke next it startled me.

"I've already had words with Mrs Hamlin. You don't need to turn up today, with your record of punctuality she'll understand the time has come for you to leave."

I remained silent, moving like a cat over to the table, skimming through the contents of the letter, making sure it wasn't some story he'd made up. He flicked his cold stare to the letter as well, then back out to the emerald fields speckled with the light snowfall.

"Your training will take place just outside of London, by the end of the summer, you'll be out in the battlefield. They'll most likely want you for missions rather than gun fodder, you'll be valuable to the allies' efforts. I've given you some recommendations." He sighed calmly, almost tiredly.

I reached up into the top cupboard where I knew he hid his vodka in a silver flask, I uncapped it and took a swig before he could say anything about it. After feeling it rip down my throat I screwed the cap back on and slammed it on the table next to the letter. I stomped upstairs. There was no point in arguing any further, he wouldn't give me a choice. Not with all the effort he's put into raising me and training me all my life. I more prodigy than daughter. Especially with the fact that my mother abandoned me on his doorstep when I was a few months old. She didn't want me, neither did he. He had no choice then and he's doing the same for me now. He's finally getting rid of me.

Before I made it to the top of the steps, he called out "You'd better get packing, you've got a boat to catch in two days, and in that time I expect you to tie up your affairs in town." I rolled my eyes and slammed my bedroom door, then flopped down onto my hard mattress and fell asleep and dreamed until the afternoon came around.

I sat myself up on my window seat, skin numb from the cold seeping in through the floorboards no matter how hot we keep the fire downstairs. I yanked the quilt off my bed and wrapped it around me, leaning against the frosted, foggy window. The sky was overcast and dull, the road outside the house had been quiet all day, no trucks in or out of this small, dismal town. Northern Ireland was a pretty place, only half an hour by bike to the beach in summer, it was too cold to go now, I wouldn't get a last look, I could scarcely remember this past summer's trip. It had been windy, the briny smell of the sea had been scattered, not so easy to smell. The waves had curled and churned into froth, it hadn't been the best trip. There was a moment when the wind had stopped long enough that the sun was able to warm my skin. Then it started up again. I had visited there with James, a boy from the town. His father was the town butcher, we went to the same school and I helped him study. We were just friends. His eyes wandered too much to other girls to notice what was right in front of him. It was like I was invisible. He had dropped out of school recently; this summer's beach trip was the time he told me. We wouldn't be seeing each other anymore. His father was training him to take his place as the butcher.

After a few hours of sitting at that window seat, pondering the future, I went downstairs, sliced, and buttered a bit of bread, ate it, and came back upstairs to pack my things. Then I slept until dawn, got dressed and went into the town to "tie up my affairs". Father didn't even glance up from his morning paper. What I wouldn't give for a different father, one who loves me and doesn't send me to the slaughter. After I finished and said my goodbyes, I was on the boat to England, then on a train to London.

…

I opened the carriage door when the train came to a stop. I had been alone the entire journey here. Obviously, my face was disconcerting enough that before any traveller had even asked if the seats were taken, they backed away slowly, apologising and shut the door. I could not qualm the seething rage at my father for giving me no choice in this, and I bet he constructed this all so I would be mad, so I could hone my rage into a fine killing tool. At least, that's what he told me of his own youthful adventures, that he had turned his anger at the world into cold, hard, bitter bullets raining down his fury onto the enemy.

…

I looked down at the gap between the floor of the carriage and the train station platform. It was only a few inches across, but the notion of crossing the final gap between my way back home and the war was colossal. My feet were frozen to the carriage floor, unwilling to move, my hand holding the handle of the suitcase went all sweaty as my grip tightened. My lungs filled and emptied air, I tried to stay calm, tried to change the look on my face to something nicer, something that would be overlooked by the hundreds of people milling about the station. My scowl receded and I rolled my shoulders back, changing my posture to make myself stand tall and straight. I willed my feet to move forward, stepping across that gap. Easy. Two seconds of my life was all it took to cross such a dark valley of no return. I felt relieved.

…

I pushed my way through the crowd, determined not to be trampled. All these people here, trying to get their children into the country or running to a safer place, or even arriving in this soon to be hellhole, looking for a fight no doubt. There were like busy ants, rushing about the place, bumping into me without a care or a 'sorry'. They had no idea what I was here to do, and that was a strange feeling. For me, growing up, everyone knew everything about each other, the locals gossiped relentlessly, but here, it was a completely different world. Here, I was truly, and thankfully, invisible.

Time flew by and soon I was on that next boat, that next train, travelling to camp Lehigh, New Jersey in America on my first mission. A friend was made, the super soldier was created and then I was in Europe in the front lines. But before I became that hollow shell, a murderer, I caught a glimmer of light. A lone ember forgotten in the hearth in the growing night.


	3. Chapter 3 - Spark

Camp Lehigh, the training grounds pumping out soldiers like a factory. Its job was to mold boys into men into soldiers. Really, it's all just an illusion. They don't truly become men until they see the mountains of corpses and the rivers of blood.

The truck had jostled this way and that. I'd been squished in the back with a few others, two crates of supplies as well. The men exchanged small talk, energetic and cheerful about starting their training. Mine was already over, I was just passing through, receiving orders, and escorting some of the ready troops to the front lines. The allies had been pushed back all the way to Italy, we were trying to regain territory and weave our way up to Germany. My mission was a little altered. I was assigned to take out the main players of Hydra's game, the elite Nazi science division.

The truck pulled up with a whine and sputter of the engine, obviously it had made quite a few trips here and back. God knows where they recruited all these naïve young boys. After the others had hopped down from the back, they turned around and offered a hand. I shook my head at the offer and sat on the edge and twisted down into the mud. Apparently, it had rained last night. I let out a groan and wrenched my duffel bag out. I headed towards the camp office. There was no time to waste, we were taking off tomorrow, I just needed to collect some documents and mission files to take with me.

The camp was bustling with drill sergeants and jogging boys, all in uniform, all working under the American flag. The grass was patchy, more dirt than grass. Wooden cabins, tents, bomb shelters and two brick buildings swamped the entrance to the vast, open grounds. Trees circled the entire camp, leading into a forest. There was constant noise. It was irritating. It was the thing that shocked me most on arrival to America, the scale of everything, including the noise. The men cleared out of the way as I made a straight line for one of the brick buildings. Before I could reach it however, I caught the figure of somebody jogging up to me out of the corner of my eye. I let out a huff of a laugh.

"So, this is where you got off to in a hurry." Peggy Carter appeared and wrapped her arms around me with a red-lipped, welcoming smile.

…

I met Peggy at the SOE training facility outside of London. There were many women there from all over the world, for the war did not stretch just over Europe, but everywhere. No one was safe. No one was an exception. The New Zealand born and Australian raised Nancy Wake was here for extra training before she was headed to France in two weeks. Lyudmila Pavlichenko, the famous Ukrainian sniper was there too, expanding her skill set. Many women who were fated to change the war, were in that room. Including me.

So there we stood, in a giant metal and wood shed transformed into a gymnasium. The wooden floorboards gleamed. It used to belong to a school before a bomb took it out, scattering the children to the countryside like shrapnel from a blast, taken far away from the cities. It was re-purposed for us and only us. I started stretching before the brutality of spy training began. She joined me.

"Hello, my name is Peggy Carter."

She had quite a distinct English accent. She offered me her hand, I ignored it and after an uncomfortable moment she sighed in dismay.

"I've heard a little about the others, but you are a bit of a dark horse. What's your story?"

"I don't have one."

She scoffed. "Everyone has a story... So you're from Ireland? The last few years have yielded a few rebellions." I turned around and walked away, going over to one of the obstacle courses. She followed.

The first obstacle was a net wall. I started off at an idle pace, slowly scaling it. It wasn't until she had joined me and insisted that she keep pace with me that I started to hurry. My temper was starting to rise. It was bad enough that I didn't want to be here, but for people to now come up and want to know everything about me, why am I _here_? What's my _story_? _Why_ am I joining the war efforts? Who _inspired_ me to join, blah blah blah. She'd have to catch me first if she wanted to know. And that much she knew, it was why she was competing with me.

She kept up with me the whole way, until the moment I tried to run across a beam. One foot slipped and I came toppling down, winded, the beam had come between my knees, hitting me square in the crotch. I slid off the beam onto the hard mat. I heard a few of the others cringe at my fall. Peggy had stopped halfway through the monkey bar section, she came up and helped my painfully to my feet, brushing my shoulders, clearing a bit of dust that clung to my green army jumper.

"I think this is where I'm supposed to wisely remark, 'look before you leap'."

I looked at her with a scowl on my face as she hummed a giggle to herself.

"But I think it's better for you to brush it off and try again, no one will wait for you in this war." Her smile faded but perked up again as our instructor arrived through the doors.

Well, she was already in the room. She just decided to make herself known at that point.

"Alright ladies, I see a few of you are keen to get to work, you other spectators will have to step it up a notch. Thank you all for applying for this program. Some of your countries will be less than thrilled I'm sure." A few knowing groans and nods answered, along with the sly smiles. The instructor, it seemed, was French, according to her accent.

"I'm here to make sure their fear is rightly placed. I'm here not to turn you into weapons, but tools. Weapons can blow cities to the skies, or crumble walls. _Tools,_ can take apart and put together those weapons. Tools can fix _or_ break anything." The women were standing up straighter. I too found myself a little transfixed at what she was saying.

"We will be running a set of try-outs today. I like to call them auditions. It's to see where your talents are focused so we can build from there and train you all in a specialized course. Suited to each of you." The women nodded, smiling, getting excited.

"We'll begin with a physical test so I can see if you need any extra hours to keep up with the others. Next, it will be testing agility, speed, endurance, the ability to retain information and report it back, hand to hand combat and accuracy with weaponry. Then I will be witnessing all your specialized abilities, especially you two snipers, you'll be exceptionally valuable." She flicked a glance at me and at, well, though I didn't know her name at the time, Lyudmila. The Russian.

"There is one final note, one final thing to be said before we begin. I have not only chosen you all personally because you are the best. No, talent may be important. But to win this war we need allies. _Loyalty_. We cannot rely on talent alone, because if we did... our spies would all have knives lodged in their backs. This war will change you. But, I hope, despite it all, that you will remember who your friends are."

I'd never taken a moment to take in her appearance. She was short and slender, she looked more like a model or actress than she did a spy. She was quite beautiful, she had a sort of dark, golden hair. Lightly tanned skin, and dark lips. The only thing that wasn't so beautifully mastered and controlled was the scar slicing through her top and bottom lip, to the left corner of her mouth. It stretched in length from about the end of her nose right down to her chin. It was a thin white line, not something you would notice unless you stared too long. Which, many of us on occasion did. We could guess who would do that sort of thing to such a woman. There was a reason she was saying what she did. All those sly smiles had vanished. We were all standing still. Ms. Carter was holding her breath. In shock, I should've guessed, that she too didn't notice the scar until the instructor had mentioned loyalty. From that moment on was when I decided that the cold approach would not work for me eventually. I needed to make friends. So, I made it my priority to be friends with Ms. Peggy Carter. …"You have no idea how glad I am to see you!" She chuckled and released me, skipping a little with excitement.

"Got sick of these boys real quick didn't-cha?" I chuckled to myself and surveyed her in her new military uniform. It suited her. She had her hair styled differently, not in the stylish bun she had last time I saw her. Now it was all wavy and shiny. She hooked her arm under mine and pulled me along.

"You wouldn't either. Especially not you, you wouldn't resist the urges I get to pummel them into the ground. I dropped one of them last week. He decided it was wise to remark on my accent." I groaned and laughed.

"So what are you doing here?"

"Grabbing some documents, collecting the newest intelligence, and bouncing straight back out of here to the front lines."

"Sounds like fun, I'll join you." We marched to the office building together. The soldiers in training looked up at us ascending the concrete steps. Some stared too long.

…

The room was a bit of a mess, piles of paper on every table, pens scattered, a radio sat on one of the many piles, angled so that the man who sat at the main desk could hear it well.

Kernel Chester Phillips.

"Sir, I believe you have some papers ready for me."

"Just one moment."

His American accent was quite strong, as strong as my Irish one. Or Peggy's British. It struck me how there were three of us who had come from miles apart to be in this room, to fight the same war. It felt alien, that flicker of unity. The American's had come into this war later than the rest, devastation brought many together, like the bombings in London. Peggy's grandmother had been killed in the bombings. I was there because I was the product of one of the best snipers the world has seen yet. I had wanted to stay out of it. Keep my nose clean. Yet, my father had different plans and uses for me. His hard labors to craft me into what I am were not to go to waste.

"Alright, here you go."

He thumped three medium sized folders and one large folder in front of me on some clear space on the wooden desk. The two smaller folders were brown, closed shut by a piece of string wound round the button on the opposite closing flap. The biggest folder had paper shoved in, the folder itself was red, stamped with 'Top Secret' on the top, it had multiple closures on it, many lengths of rope winding around it, even a chain haphazardly around it.

"You have three days until you check in to our camp in Italy, read these in that time. I'll be there same as Agent Carter, we'll be giving you your missions. You'll also be working with a team..."

"Hang on, what?" I had already reached out to touch a folder, but snapped my arm back when he mentioned that golden nugget of information.

"You'll be working with a team on your missions. We have not yet selected members for the team, but it is certain you will need one. These are not easy tasks you can do on your own."

Peggy looked to the floor. They've had this discussion before, and it seemed only Agent Carter had trust in me.

"I could handle them on my own, I thought I was to do this on my own."

"Agent Vanderdash, we trust in your talents, it's just... with recent events... it's not safe to be travelling alone in a war zone, it wasn't before, but now, our spies aren't returning. We need to know you're safe." Peggy looked me in the eyes, her expression worried. I let out a sigh.

"May I have a hand in picking my team?" Phillips looked to Agent Carter, he raised an eyebrow and slowly dragged his gaze back to me. I cocked my head to the side waiting for his answer.

"You may." My lips curled into a crooked grin.

"Alright, you're dismissed." I slid my eyes to flash a grin at Peggy, she returned one of her own. We turned and walked out of the room together, Phillips threw himself back into his work.

"That went well."

…

The plane touched down and I was on the truck to the closest camp. It was a short trip, not without it's dangers. Guns blazed before we reached the first road block. I was situated deep within the truck, five men guarding me. Not that I needed them. Not really. Bullet dents were sprinkled along the sides of the vehicle. The driver had a close-call, his arm was bleeding. We rolled through the gate to the camp in a steaming hot mess. The men filed out and cleared the way for me. I jumped out with my rifle, but slipped on the mud. From touch down to entry I hadn't had a moment to think. I guess that's what a war zone is like. Furious and never ending. Just as my face was headed for the sloppy ground, a hand clamped around my wrist and hauled me up. I slammed into his chest.

"Watch yourself,"

I looked up into misty blue eyes. Before stuttering like a flustered idiot, I sighed.

"Thank you."

He smiled kindly, I noted a hint of regret in his eyes.

"No problem," I realised he was still holding me to his chest and cleared my throat. He smiled sheepishly and released me. He made to move past me, then stopped and smiled, like he remembered something.

"Can I ask your name?" He looked down and rubbed his neck, smiling with his pearly teeth. His eyes flicked back to mine, waiting for the answer.

"Margaret Vanderdash. Call me Maggie. If I had friends that's what they'd call me." His eyes widened slightly as his lips curled upwards. He laughed under his breath as he moved to walk away again.

"Hey, fair is fair, I gave you mine. You give me yours." I took his arm and spun him back to face me. My hand lingered a little too long, I knew because his eyes stared at my hand on his forearm, not a worried stare, but curious. I let go as he sighed another laugh.

"James Buchannan Barnes. Friends call me Bucky, and you are welcome to call me that too. See you around."

He patted my shoulder with a wink and finally moved off. My gaze followed him until I lost him in a sea of camouflage green. Only when I took a step in my own direction did I think to myself ' _What the hell are you doing?_ _It's a war zone for god's sake, act like it!'_ There's no room for that kind of relationship, only ones that will benefit me. My father above all told me that. I couldn't get attached to something so volatile. Someone I could lose. It would hurt me, and I'd need all my strength to fight. No distractions. What was I thinking? I was getting ahead of myself. No need to let dreams cloud my thoughts. Why was I even thinking of him like that? He could be dead come tomorrow. So it's settled, no thinking of men in that way. At all. _Ever_.

And even with such a stubborn mindset, I looked back into that sea of green to find that soldier.

 **Apologies for the big gap between updating, school has taken it's toll but it's nearing the gruesome end, exams! Soon I'll be able to do some more writing!**


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